Vvhat ist meine problems?
by Softbrush
Summary: When a German doctor comes to the 4047, racists erupt out of a few folks and even more conflicts ensue. New comer to the MASH, Kurt Poyzinclah, decides to ask for a transfer, but Radar, Sydney Freeman and Father Maloney aren’t prepared to let him go wit
1. Prolouge

Vvhat ist meine problems?  
  
MASH does not belong to me, or I'd be rich and wouldn't write anything. I'm not making any profit from this story. Hawkeye, B.J, Charles, Potter and Radar (plus any other character you see in the TV show that is in my story) aren't mine.  
  
Summary: When a German doctor comes to the 4047, racists erupt out of a few folks and even more conflicts ensue. New comer to the MASH, Kurt Poyzinclah, decides to ask for a transfer, but Radar, Sydney Freeman and Father Maloney aren't prepared to let him go without convincing him not every American's a discriminator.  
  
Preparation  
Prologue  
  
"Pierce, Honeycutt, Winchester! Colonel Potter wants to see you right away!" Radar's tired voice rang out over the 4047's intercom system, the sound cracked and worn. The three surgeons called scrambled out of their tent into the gloomy dark of the Korean morning.  
"What on Earth could that man possibly want at this hour? Charles kept muttering to himself, until Hawkeye discovered he found it annoying.  
"Something obviously important, Chuckles, if he's willing to wake up he entire unit." He flashed Charles a smirk as they strolled away down the road towards Potter's office.  
"You're awfully quiet, Honeycutt?" Charles suddenly inquired as they opened the door to the colonel's. B.J simply shrugged, a small smile on his face.  
"I'm just a little tired, Chuckles. I'm used to sleeping in. Usually I'd sleep until five o'clock and not three."  
  
"About time you fellow arrived. I've got some rather important news to tell you doctors."  
"Oh, by all means, Colonel, delay us. We're simply falling asleep in our chairs."  
Indeed, the three doctors were in separate chairs in front of Potter's desk, Honeycutt drifting off, half slumped forward. He kept muttering, "I'm still awake," after every comment a person made.  
"A new doctor's going to be arriving in the morning." The doctors pulled affronted looks, B.J finally scrounging up enough wakefulness to straighten up and say, "I really am awake, you know."  
"Really, colonel, you woke us up for this? What's the big deal, a new doctor, so what?" Hawkeye said lightly, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand.  
"It's not that, Pierce, it's he himself that's the problem. I'm afraid there might be a little controversy between him and the other 4047 staff. Maybe even some of the patients. God knows some of them and their dad's fought in the World Wars."  
"He's.not American, then?" Charles said quietly, tilting his head slightly downwards, yet leaving his eyes to stare through the top of their sockets.  
"No, he's not. He's a Nazi, a German." Potter regarded the doctors through a single eye, having cocked his head to the side. The dawning look upon their faces was enough for him to know any other person's reactions.  
"B.J, Hawkeye, I want absolutely no practical jokes on this fellow. None what so ever. I don't care how light. He's only been in America for half a year before he was drafted. He's a good doctor, from what I hear, he's got good files."  
"A Nazi, in our camp.Unspeakable," Charles murmured, ignoring the rather irritated look upon his officer's face.  
"Discrimination is what I'm afraid he's going to face. People are still tense about the Germans."  
"Yes Mom." Hawkeye announced. 


	2. Chapter One: 'Kurty'

Softbrush here! It came to my attention that the last chapter was rather raunchy. I admit I rushed it a bit and thus it was short and rather poorly edited. However, I rather wanted to get the show on the road before my poor mind exploded with this idea. Rather now, I have a chapter up for you to read and then gouge your eyes out. And just remember, I love German people. I know how to speak German. Its just discrimination at the camp.  
  
Thanks to Lily D.W for pointing out my stupid typo. It's 4077th, not 4047. Also, it has come to my attention I don't know how to spell the father's name. Mulcadey or Molroney? I never even referred to his real name before this story. O.o" Ah crap. So, just for fun, I'm going to switch it every chapter so I'm bound to be right eventually! Muwahahaha-*hack cough gag choke sputter*-hehehe.hehe.ha.*ahems* *************************  
  
Vvhat ist meine problems?  
  
MASH does not belong to me, or I'd be rich and wouldn't write anything. I'm not making any profit from this story. Hawkeye, B.J, Charles, Potter and Radar (plus any other character you see in the TV show that is in my story) aren't mine. Kurt Creejak Gavadan Poyzinclah is mine. All mine. Hah. I will rip you to shreds if you take him without my permission. Rrrr.  
  
Summary: When a German doctor comes to the 4047, racists erupt out of a few folks and even more conflicts ensue. New comer to the MASH, Kurt Poyzinclah, decides to ask for a transfer, but Radar, Sydney Freeman and Father Mulcadey aren't prepared to let him go without convincing him not every American's a discriminator.  
  
Poisonclaw Chapter One  
  
Captain Kurt Creejak Gavadan Poyzinclah had never been to Korea before, nor had he ever wanted to be part of it. Yet, once he had moved into America from his beloved Germany, it was only a few weeks before he, like many others, became drafted into the 'Police Act'. He knew the language well enough, their customs, a little bit of their anthem (he could get to ".dawn's early light" before stopping), and even a bit of their history. However, he had never dreamed he would have to live with so many for who knew how long!  
With a sigh, he reminded himself he wasn't fighting. He was going to a MASH camp. A medical.what did MASH stand for again? Ah, to hell with it. He wasn't going to pester himself needlessly-he was bound to find out by the end of the week anyways.  
He wondered if anybody there was anticipating his arrival, or was it simply nothing to even ponder about for a moment? Once again, he was sure he would find out. He gazed absently into the reflection of the window the jeep was carrying him in.  
  
Kurt wasn't exactly drop-dead gorgeous, but he wasn't that bad either. Dusty brown hair flecked with darker streaks of brown, a shaven mug, deep, velvet brown eyes (the right eye having a thin yet curious paleness to it), pale white skin, a firm build and he stood at approximately six feet and one inch, weighing in at one-hundred and forty pounds. That, his family constantly reminded him, meant he could gain ten more pounds before watching his weight.  
"A hundred f'er d'a first five feet, und five pounds f'er every inch aftervards," he murmured quietly to himself, receiving a quizzical glare from the jeep driver.  
"You'll be there in a minute, Nazi, so keep quiet and let me drive," the man behind the steering wheel said rather darkly, and Kurt simply shrugged at him, pretending to absently dust some dirt off of his brown and tan captain's uniform. He glanced back at his two bags, one a simple grey hockey bag, the other a nice trunk. They held his belongings-photographs of his family and loved ones (which included his feline companion Cisco), his regular green uniform, his other clothes, and most importantly, his doll.  
Ah yes, his doll. It wasn't a regular little teddy bear. It was worn-out and very old. A small figure that resembled a demon with it's pointed ears, it's golden buttons for eyes, it's long dark blue yarn hair and it's small yet long prehensile grade tail, that wore red and white stripped pants on it's two-toed legs, and a brown coat with little sequins over it's black shirt, which covered it's arms and partially covered it's three-fingered hands. Lockheed, he called it. Of course, it had also been dubbed "Ew!" and "What an ugly little toy!" by others.  
  
The jeep rounded a bend and carried on for another mile before Kurt saw anything aside from dust and shrubs. The small figures of people and great green tends was the picture that had been painted across the powder blue sky, beckoning them forth. The jeep driver snorted at Kurt's curious look, speeding their car up. Within a few minutes, it pulled to a stop.  
"Out," the driver said sternly, and Kurt, looking around himself, grabbed up his two bags with a rather sturdy and controlled grip, and leapt out of the jeep, stumbling a bit. The jeep was off before any questions could be made. Kurt swivelled his head around and took a step, nearly colliding with a small boy wearing a green woollen cap and carrying an armful of papers. He had the look of a hassled yet patient innocent child. "Excuse meine!" Kurt said, nearly at the same time the boy said, "Excuse me!" The boy gave him a look, and his expression changed immediately to a surprised and shocked one.  
"Oh, oh, oh, y-you must be Captain, captain, uh, captain."  
"Poyzinclah?" Kurt offered him, shuffling his bags so he could offer the boy a hand. A hand that was ignored.  
"Oh gosh, I gatta tell Colonel Potter!" With that, the kid ran off to a building a few yards away, nearly colliding with the door that had swung open. The man who had nearly broken the boy's nose stepped out, putting an army cap over his grey haired head. His skin was slightly wrinkled and his nose large, yet his uniform and strut made it obvious he was an officer that command order.  
"Captain Poyzinclah! I'm Colonel Potter, welcome to the 4077 MASH." The colonel took Kurt's still hanging hand and shook it with a bone-breaking grip, yet the German did nothing to show the shot of pain that streaked through his fingers.  
"Guten-tag, sar. I'z a rather interesting experience to be here, Colonel," Kurt said, and took his hand back after it had been released, putting his second bag in it, just to make sure there was no more hand shaking to be done.  
"You can park your bags in The Swamp until we clear out a spot for you in a different tent. Your bunkmates are a little eccentric but you'll get used to them. This lad is Radar, our camp Clerk. I believe you two just met.  
"Uh, only a little, sir," Radar replied shyly, ducking half behind the colonel. Kurt shed a smile to Radar, who tucked his neck into his shirt's collar and grinned slightly. "I'll s-show you to The Swamp, sir."  
"Ah, dakne, Radar," Kurt nodded curtly before following after a quick- scurrying Radar, who seemed nervous to be around him. After a few good scampers and bounds, the boy called Radar had landed himself and Kurt in front of a wooden door with sloppy bubble-letters in white chalk reading "Swamp", and the names of the occupants written in different signatures underneath. Hawkeye, in very childish writing with many curves and loops, B.J with rather interesting printing, and Charles Winchester the Third, in very nice formal writing.  
"Uh, they're nice guys, all of 'em. Er, just don't fall asleep until they learn your last name." And with those words of odd advice, Radar, papers in hand, scurried off to a different tent and deliver a letter or two.  
"Interesting fellow, Radar iz." Kurt murmured to himself, and shuffled his bags into one hand, extending the other to open the door to The Swamp. Of course, the door opened outward and nearly clonked him in the nose, in a most similar way to how Radar had nearly met his end when the German had first set eyes upon the boy. A tall man, perhaps only an inch shorter then Kurt, with premature grey hairs mingling with his greasy ebony black cut and a slightly unshaven mug, wearing a blue and white Hawaiian flowered shirt and black pants, suddenly scooped his hand up and began shaking it thoroughly.  
"Hawkeye Pierce, but you can call me Mom if you like," the man called Hawkeye said jovially, nearly dragging the over-balanced Kurt inside. There were three other men in the tent, the third being rather curious. A short man with darker skin and black hair wearing a.plaid kilt and a red blouse with a scarf around his neck, looked up at him, and merely nodded. Another man, which light brown hair and deep eyes smiled and gave him a quick wave and said, "I really was awake, you know," causing Kurt serious confusion yet Hawkeye a laugh. The last man was taller then the other two, wearing an army cap and a green uniform much like the colonel had been wearing. It covered his curly brown hair, which must have been balding slowly. He eyed Kurt wearily before turning back to the letter in his hand. "The most attractive man in the skirt is Corporal Clinger. The troll with the letter is Major Winchester and the smiling twit on the bunk is Captain B.J Honeycutt." Kurt nodded to each man, setting his bags down by an empty bunk on the far 'wall'. The Swamp was crowded, and he couldn't help but feel guilty about it. It was his bunk that looked like it shouldn't be there.  
"Meine name and rank ist Captain Kurt Poyzinclah. I am verty pleased to meet you all."  
Clinger suddenly looked up, an extremely affronted look on his face. He gathered his kilt up (it happened to be treading on the ground) and tossed his scarf once more around his neck.  
"Only one thing worse then not being home in Toledo, it not being home in Toledo and having to work with a dirty Nazi!" The short cross-dressing corporal suddenly stalked out of the tent, allowing the door to slam behind him. Kurt tucked his head into his neck an inch and gave an embarrassed grin, flashing his ivory white teeth.  
"It must have been the accent, chum," B.J suddenly chimed, yawning a moment after he spoke. Kurt rolled his shoulders back and shrugged half- heartedly, placing his bags on his already-made bunk. More feeling of embarrassment raised up in him, knowing full well others indeed had to make their own beds here. Hopefully, it wasn't a regular thing. He liked the homely feeling of a messy crumpled blanket draped over a cot.  
"I don't vant to sound indignant, but I do hope not everyone here takes as varmly to me az Corporal Clinger did. That other boy, Radar, seemed scared of'nt me."  
"Ah, nothing to worry about, Kurty. It'll take them a bit of time to warm up to you. It does to all of us," B.J said wisely, ending his moment by hiccupping.  
"All except Charles. We're still warming up to dear old Chuckles," Hawkeye sneered, casting a glance at Winchester, who merely rolled his eyes and went back to his letter.  
Kurty? He'd have to ask Pierce not to refer to him as that name. His Ova and Omar called him that, and he was not looking forward to being homesick right off the bat.  
"By he way, Kurty," Winchester suddenly said quietly, "What did you say you were here for.?"  
"Oh, I nevah said vhat I vas here for yet, Major." He paused a moment to smile gracefully at Charles' sudden humph. "Me, though, meine job ist a surgeon. Vut, I also perform magic every night et seven!" Ah, he relished the laugh B.J and Hawkeye tore out, but at the same time winced inwardly at Winchester's turning back.  
  
Okay, hope you liked that last chapter. I took my time to actually edit this one. I like Winchester so you may see a lot of him scurrying around- he's easy to mould. I can shape him up to be sarcastic, funny, or just a plain out bastard. Hawkeye wasn't very workable in this chapter, so forgive me you hungry Hawkeye slaves, and B.J.well, Honeycutt will most certainly be around. As for the good Father, and Sydney Freeman psychiatrist extraordinaire, he'll be around the bend to. Maybe he'll get caught in another fox hole and have his arms blown off or something.*cackles evilly* 


	3. Chapter Three: The Vicar, The Psychiatri...

Softbrush here! Thanks to Hawkeye's Seductress for (you guessed it) pointing out my stupid typos. It's Klinger, and Mulcahy (ah, now I've got nothing to entertain myself). I knew it was Hunnicutt, but my computer changed it every time I wrote it. I fixed it now. :D PS, H.S-I never feel bad. I'm a mean bitchy flaming ranting fox, remember? *grins evilly and goes off to vandalise her school * *************************  
  
Vvhat ist meine problems?  
  
MASH does not belong to me, or I'd be rich and wouldn't write anything. I'm not making any profit from this story. Hawkeye, B.J, Charles, Potter and Radar (plus any other character you see in the TV show that is in my story) aren't mine. Kurt Creejak Gavadan Poyzinclah is mine. All mine. Hah. I will rip you to shreds if you take him without my permission. Rrrr.  
  
Summary: When a German doctor comes to the 4077, racists erupt out of a few folks and even more conflicts ensue. Newcomer to the MASH, Kurt Poyzinclah, decides to ask for a transfer, but Radar, Sydney Freeman and Father Mulcahy aren't prepared to let him go without convincing him not every American's a discriminator.  
  
Chapter Two The Vicar, The Psychiatrist and The Nurse  
  
"Hey, Kurty, pass the sausages, will ya?" Hawkeye chimed to the German surgeon, who obliged by making a disgusted yet amused snort and passing the plate of what the chief called 'sausages'. Hawkeye accepted the platter just as Hunnicutt looked up and nearly choked on his orange juice.  
"Sydney? Hell, Freeman, here again?" A man of average.Well, he looked average, from his light blue eyes, to his dark hair and moustache, and down to his green and rumpled uniform and cap. The man whom Kurt gathered to be Sydney Freeman gave a smile and walked slowly over to the table, taking a seat between Hawkeye and Kurt. "Hunnicutt, Hawkeye.Ah, and who's this? Another soon-to-be Klinger or can I save my empty files for somebody else?"  
Kurt merely grinned and nodded in greeting, sipping his coffee quietly. B.J seemed to understand and did the introducing for him, saving Kurt the use of words (and accents.). "That is Captain Kurt Poyzinclah, a brand new penny in our pig. He just arrived yesterday evening!"  
Sydney regarded Kurt with a suddenly very curious pair of eyes. His thoughtful optics swam over the captain for a brief moment before he tilted his head to the side. Kurt cleared his throat uneasily and set his coffee mug down, starring somewhere above Freeman's head.  
"Poyzinclah? Kurt? I don't believe I know a more common name in the United States or Korea." Ah, precious yet jolly sarcasm.  
"Er, vell, actually.I'm nay from Americah," Kurt said slowly, raising his right brow and grinning with only one side of his mouth. Sydney nodded, seemingly his thoughts confirmed; which, of course, they were.  
"I thought so. You must be from Germany, or Poland. Which is it? Am I right?"  
Kurt was taken aback, and by the expression on his face it was mighty obvious. He stumbled for a moment upon his thoughts of what to retort this most decently put question, merely muttering a quiet "Germany."  
Freeman nodded, and straightened his shoulder a bit in a pompous sort of victory posture. He took a sausage from the plate, stabbing it with a fork, and took a bit, grimacing and nearly choking it out a moment later.  
"Well, Kurt, a word of advice. Stay away from the kitchens. No man can survive off the food here for long." "Ja. I gathered d'at from de nauseating feeling many people complain about here." Kurt flashed a wild grin, tipping his mug and draining the last of the coffee-swills in the bottom of his cup. B.J, Hawkeye and Freeman all snorted with appreciative amusement, yet Winchester happened to come over and join their table, causing a very high velocity decline in the laughter.  
"Ah, Freeman, nice to see you in our midst's again," Charles commented lightly, nodding his head in acknowledgement of the mind-doctor. He gazed over Benjamin and B.J for just a moment, rather ignoring Kurt, before taking a sip from his own coffee.  
"Good morning, Charles."  
"Chuckles."  
"Winchester."  
"Guten Morgen, Charles."  
The words had hardly left Kurt's mouth before there was a loud clatter of cutlery and the noise in the mess-tent died down to an almost whisper. Kurt looked up, an absent look on his face yet a subtle confused expression being not so well disguised.  
"A Nazi! In an American MASH!" Margaret's shrill yet hushed voice pierced through the air and struck a nerve, causing Kurt's left eye to twitch in annoyance. Already, he could tell this lady was going to be trouble for him. Hoolahand stalked over, a scowl planted onto her features. Even her slightly frizzy blonde hair spoke out against the captain.  
"How dare a German speak our language?! Charles, are you going to do something about this or just sit there?"  
"Gee, Chuckles just resembled Ferret-face Frank Burns for a moment there." Hawkeye murmured to B.J, who swatted him over the head. Winchester merely shrugged his shoulders half-heartedly, picking his coffee mug up and trailing over to a different table. Margaret gave Kurt a final glare before slinking back to sit with Charles, talking to him in a hushed and plotting tone.  
"That was Margaret. She likes you," a soft and gentle tone suddenly phrased out down the long table to Kurt, and all four men turned their heads to look at a thin man with brown hair, hazy eyes and wearing a black shirt over a white shirt, a cross hanging from his neck, and loose grey pants.  
"Father Malcahy! Good morning to you to," Sydney greeted the priest, yet was nearly cut off by Kurt.  
"You have church here at ze camp?" Kurt enthusiastically questioned, immediately getting up and shaking the Father's hand. Slightly ruffled, Malcahy smiled and nodded, taking his hand back from Kurt with an almost hurried motion.  
"Er, yes, I hold a sermon every Sunday. You, er, that is, do you follow the path of God?"  
Kurt folded his hands together upon the wooden surface of the table, and with a bowed head murmured, "I am Catholic, Vicar, so ja. I am religious, if d'at iz vhat you mean." He finished his proclamation by digging in his shirt for something that was stashed in an inner pocket. Of course, his shirt being a uniform, it was rather difficult seeing as all the buttons where done up. After a moment, he pulled out a braided chain of silver and what looked like to be small crystals embedded in it's chain, and a cross with gold specks flowing up and down it, hanging off the chain. "Meine Omar gave this to me. I've have it for a long time, and it has been in meine family for many ages."  
"Catholic, eh? Well, I'm glad to hear you worship the Lord, at least," Mulcahy, said, gazing at Kurt's ornament with an impressed expression upon his face. He let forth a low whistle to show his impressed-state. "Attention all Medical Teams, incoming wounded in a chopper. All persons to report," Radar's voice rang out across the speaker system, and a heavy sigh seamed to envelope those around.  
"That's our call. Come on, Kurty, B.J; let's get a move on. Sydney, Father," Hawkeye nodded to each man and lead the other two out of the mess tent. They jogged down and path and onto the helicopter pad, where with a doubt, the chopper sat with it's blades rotating at a mad speed. Other people were there, doctors, nurses, the creep in the dress, Winchester and Hoolahand.Hawkeye and B.J went straight to work, inspecting the on-coming wounded to see who could wait and who needed attention first.  
Kurt stood still for a moment, starring in disbelief at the blood spilling out of his fellow humans, the madness that seemed to ensue. After a moment, B.J announced to him, "Get on in here, Kurt, and grab yourself a patient before they're all sold out," and Kurt started inspecting a younger man who had a few land-mine fragments lodged into his chest in a rhythmic pattern of machine-gun fire. The blood wasn't spilling out of the boy any more, yet the lad was conscious.  
"Hey, doc, what's it look like?" the kid replied in a strained voice, practically grinning from ear to ear. Kurt swallowed, and murmured something to the boy, who winced as Hawkeye motioned for a nurse to come and take him. The chaotic moments flew by, Kurt trying to talk as quietly as possible, Hawkeye and Hunnicutt doing their best to help him out. Lifting a boy with another medical team member, Kurt took the time to look up and acknowledge their help. Ah, her help. She had long, curly red hair that was done up in a braid that went down her back. It was loose and stray strands were flailing out in every direction. Her bangs copied the movement. She was skinny, pale with freckles, and had misty hazel eyes. He couldn't help but notice her curvy figure, on top of all that.  
Then came the operating. Kurt pulled a disgusted look from behind his surgical mask, his white apron and jacket disguising a lot of him into being practically un-identifiable. He ended up operating on a kid who had his legs blown pretty badly by another landmine, and with almost a sick sadness, he was told to simply patch the kid up (the quick work being referred to as 'Meatball Work' by the ever-diligent Colonel Potter). Twelve bottles of morphine and a light bulb later, they were finished their work. Kurt slunk onto the bench in the doctor's prep room, leaning his back against the wall, his mask clutched tightly in his right hand.  
"Vell." he announced solemnly as the other surgeons marched into the room, "That vas.verty rot." "It was what? Say that again, boy," Potter remarked, crossing his arms over his chest in a relaxed sort of way. "He said it was very red, colonel. As in blood, he said" Winchester said quietly, curling a knee to his chest and supporting the foot on the edge of the bench. Kurt nodded silently, cocking his head slightly to the side. "So captain Poyzinclah, how'd you like your first day at the 4077?" Potter questioned lightly, as though ignoring Charles was a customary thing to do. "Who vas d'a nurse who helped me lift that ein stretcher?" Kurt inquired absently, gazing at a seemingly interesting spot on the white wall. B.J looked at Kurt, then the wall, and back at Kurt before smiling lazily. "That was Jennifer Calderwood. Pretty, eh?" B.J chuckled vainly and ducked a swat aimed at him by Hawkeye. "Ja." Kurt closed his eyes for a moment, the scent of blood on his hands and clothes a little too much for him to handle all at once. This was his life for the next how-knew-how-long? Well, as long as the scenery was as good as the nurses, he'd live it through. Well, if he avoided the Hoolahand woman and cross-dressing crazy.  
  
Ein is German for One Rot is German for Red Guten Morgen is German for Good Morning 


End file.
